He is his own narratorStanding aisle-length awayWords crash all aroundA disarrayed filing cabinet pureeJust furrowed eyebrowsThings to say but a day too late

He watches far in the cornerThat homebrewed fog on autoTapping, gesturing, again and againTrying, failing, to recallConversations with the muralsCerebrally painted on chairsNumerous topics ensueAll he memorizedHis eyes strain, lips stretchIt will all come out tonightThey stay two steps aheadThere's laughter; he tries it onNow a quivering stickStuck on top a cherryAs music and treats swayThe narrator sends shoutsOut from about the cornerThe gel wall filters intakeDistorts outtakeAll things said he could sayIf life had a 3-second time delaySo once more he walks homeTo come and be him once more